


Night Moves

by KaranSeraph



Series: Upgrades [5]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: 1960s, Bonus Chapter, Drive-In, Euphemisms, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasizing, Human, I Did Not Make Up All These Tags, Inappropriate Use of Faction Brand, Making Out, Oral Sex, Parking, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pillow Talk, Romancing Game Characters, Tattoos, Underage Drinking, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaranSeraph/pseuds/KaranSeraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soundwave challenges Slipstream to a game within his Virtual Detroit program; part of the challenge is operating as a human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during a hypothetical season four in which Kaon/Trypticon is on Earth, etc. Relevant details are given in the prologue. 
> 
> TF Rare Pairing Prompt: Slipstream/Soundwave--Night Moves
> 
> I went with the idea that this might be inspired by the Bob Seger song of the same name. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgOA24hAe60

Sometimes, Officer’s Meeting was code for Date Night, and Slipstream for one was glad this was one of those times. It wasn’t like they never had real Officer’s Meetings, or never did any real Decepticon faction business. They did that all the time! Which was why she was tired. Megatron was terrorizing Detroit, he still had half Slipstream brother’s under his personal command, and he didn’t listen to reasonable or logical arguments about why they should distribute energon across multiple assets.

She was really beginning to see what had driven Starscream to so many coup attempts, and she hated acknowledging similarities between the loser template and herself. As it was, she was pretty much taking a page from his book and pretending alliance to Megatron while quietly putting into effect her own plans to further faction goals. For the most part this meant skimming energon that Megatron wanted to power Trypticon, and using it to power Griffin. It meant her team was sneaking around trying to avoid notice of Autobots as well as fellow Decepticons much of the time, but it made more sense that putting all their resources into one giant target and leaving Megatron’s power completely unchecked.

Still, it was wearing on her to be everyone’s balance, especially since Lockdown had come back from that alternate universe all blazing with exotic energy. He’d gone from sicko mod-addict, to re-enlightened Cyber-ninja, to insane huntsmech and if they didn’t find a safer permanent solution soon, she and Soundwave were going to have to take him down for good.

And that would mean losing an ally with one slaggin’ sexy arsenal. And without Lockdown’s good word, it would cost her team greatly to retain Swindle and the fraggin’ armory he was packing.

But, she had Soundwave.

He was so hers. And – take that, Megatron – the sonic warrior’s minions were hers, too!

Slipstream, descended through the foggy skies, folded out from her jet alt-mode, and alighted in the alleyway beside Dancitron. Her armor steamed in the cool, damp air as she transmitted a wireless signal to unlock the delivery entrance door. The large, Cybertronian-scaled door rose with a quiet hiss, and she entered a narrow maintenance area of the popular downtown nightclub.

The bass pounded and thumped through the wall as Slipstream irised the shutters closed and open over her optics to clear them of moisture. She bypassed the dancefloor and the stairs to the DJ booth and made directly for the lift.

The music faded as she descended in the large cargo elevator. There was a fleeting moment of near silence in which she could hear the lift mechanism, before a secondary music source bled out from the private chambers below.

The lift doors opened on Slipstream as she attempted to shake the last of the condensation from her shell, and she stepped, then, out into Soundwave’s laboratory. She’d seen his previous lab once, and this was similar. Tech salvaged from the Nemesis and downed Omega Sentinels was rigged together with Earth tech and Soundwave’s own custom-built gear. It might have looked more disparate, if Soundwave were not in a Paint It Black phase. As it was, the lab reflected Soundwave’s currently assimilated shell as if an extension of his body. Maybe, in a way, it really was, the way his shell was just an extension of his kernel.

Slipstream sauntered through the network of black boxes, amber back-lit monitors, and crimson underlighting. She had a date with a VR slab.

Soundwave converted to his bipedal form as Slipstream took a seat on one of the centrally located slabs. She supposed he’d actually been docked with the gear like one of those electric cars plugged into a garage.

“Status, Commander?” He asked in his customary auto-tuned vocalization.

Slipstream sighed over-dramatically. She didn’t like that she was prone to some of her loser template’s dramatics, but she was. “Well, we had this staff meeting scheduled, and I didn’t exactly have something better to do, so I supposed I might just show up.”

Soundwave wore a mouthplate as usual, but Slipstream believed she could hear a smile in his voice, even through the tuning. “Punctual.”

“Shut-up. I’m here, aren’t I?”

He was smiling again! “Yes, Commander. What is your preferred scenario?”

Slipstream lay back against the slab, knees drawn up slightly and heels hooked over the foot of the VR slab. “Not that shoot-out one, again. Something less like real life. And warmer!”

“Tropical island: prepared for Lockdown,” Soundwave said, then dropped that subject. Slipstream didn’t want to discuss it either. “Slipstream: is not opposed to human form?”

“Like the holomatter avatars?” For all that Soundwave talked about revolting against organic oppressors, he’d shown plenty of interest in playing at being human, he’d actually coded Slipstream’s current holo-avatar.

“Similar,” Soundwave answered.

Slipstream didn’t really care either way. Knowing who she was as more than a copy of Starscream was still a struggle sometimes, but she was becoming more sure of herself. Yet, so long as they understood they were taking on bodies and roles as part of some avatar or VR play, Slipstream was quite flexible on appearance. “You know,” she said.

“Excellent,” Soundwave replied, because he really was already familiar with her preferences; asking was his way of giving her a chance to practice less hostile communication skills. She just wasn’t in the mood.

Soundwave helped fit the VR interface equipment to Slipstream’s head.

“Program: Night Moves. Setting: drive-in movie theater. Character: Earth human designated Slipstream. Win criteria: casual organic interfacing.”

“That can’t take very long!” She and Soundwave had already actually been intimate in real life. How hard could it be to pretend the same thing?

“Challenge: simulated organic biology. Additional challenge: Soundwave.” So…he was gonna play hard to get? But, that would mean Slipstream would have to be assertive, or forceful, or direct.

“Oh.”

“Break a leg,” Soundwave said, as the VR engine interfaced with Slipstream’s sensornet and she felt herself transported.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Slipstream asks the all important question, "Which game characters can I romance?" and learns a lesson about friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features virtual copies of Stella Healy (Stiletto), Samantha Lomow (Slo-Mo), and Ray Thatherton (Wraith). They are not actually present, but Soundwave used scans of them to create characters for his VR scenario.
> 
> There's also a white-colored Soundwave acting as in-game Help.

Slipstream almost broke a leg! “Scrap!” she wobbled in stiletto heels on a concrete walkway. The VR body felt different from her own Cybertronian form, or from operating her holo-avatar via facsimile circuitry. The heels felt like poorly attached accessories rather than part of her body. She took a few practice steps as she surveyed her surroundings.

This wasn’t her first time within Soundwave’s virtual reality program, but there were noticeable differences from the Western genre scenarios Soundwave had previously chosen. For one, even when in a human form, she’d had boots securely laced to her feet. The scenery was different, too, this time. It looked like archival images from before the so-called Robot Renaissance. No Sumdac tower, and no automatons either. The vehicles were invariably packing combustion engines run on fossil fuels, and they were big, for grounders.

“Salutations,” said a flat, dispassionate voice. Slipstream turned toward the sound and saw the weird, white and blue, miniature Soundwave wearing a striped scarf hovering nearby.

“Oh, it’s you.” The annoying in-game Help.

“You only live as many times as you reset the game, but in the interest of efficiency, read the fraggin’ FAQ.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Slipstream said. “Hide.”

The help system avatar disappeared and Slipstream looked around for a clue to her next step. She didn’t actually know how this scenario worked, but it wasn’t like she wanted to admit that, even to the Help. Maybe that wasn’t logical, but she was determined to figure this out.

Slipstream stood on a residential, downtown block in front of a house with a purple door, which probably signified her home base or respawn point in the virtual world. She was carrying a bag shaped like a sling. Inside, Slipstream found what looked like in-game currency, a copy of the FAQ, a photo ID card with her name – she understood the organic-like form with brown skin, red-brown eyes, and black hair as her own – and a few small containers she suspected to be personal care products. One didn’t have to be on Earth long to have seen commercials describing how much humans needed chemical, or “all natural” products to appear presentable to others. It wasn’t so different from Swindle’s spiels about whatever products he was pushing.

A car pulled up to the curb – long and sharply-finned, like something with rocket envy – and honked rudely at her. Slipstream regarded the characters seated inside the roofless vehicle. They looked vaguely like humans designated Stella and Samantha, but Slipstream was certain these were virtual world copies and extensions of the game program.

“Come on, get in, hurry, vamoose, we’ll be late!” Sam called from behind the driver’s wheel.

Slipstream shifted weight to her toes, ran awkwardly to the convertible and slipped over the door and into the front passenger seat. “What’s our destination?”

“What. Is. Our. Dest. In. A. Tion?” Stella mimicked, doing The Robot dance in the back seat.

Slipstream hissed in annoyance, but tried to repeat the question in a human-ish voice. “What kinda trouble are we gonna get in tonight, girls?” She added a wide, fake smile for good measure.

“The best kind!” Stella laughed.

Sam merged their red vehicle with local traffic before answering. Slipstream didn’t know whether that was game lag, or realistically programmed road safety protocols. “Where do you think?”

Touché, Slipstream thought. “The Drive-in?”

“What else is there to do in this town if you’re below drinking age?”

“You have to be a certain age to drink?!” Slipstream asked. That couldn’t be a real rule.

“Good one. Real funny,” Sam deadpanned, as Stella laughed.

Slipstream considered their response. “Right.” She forced a laugh. “The ID I have doesn’t make me old enough for…drinking alcohol responsibly.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Stella asked.

“Hush-up, listen, I stowed a six pack in the trunk,” Sam said as their convertible passed by a cornfield – Detroit seemed to have suddenly gotten smaller and more rural while Slipstream wasn’t paying attention – “They might search for stows, so I stashed the bottles inside the emergency kit.”

“Sam’s like a Boy Scout,” Stella teased.

“It pays to think ahead, saves time in the long run. We’re almost here.”

The road was now lined with trees where there had previously been tall rows of corn or city blocks. Soundwave had to have cheated geography for sake a playability. “Time flies,” Slipstream whispered, noticing the virtual sun was low on the horizon, causing a strobe-like effect as their convertible seemed to sail past the tall trunks of trees. At least it was still warm, like she’d asked for. Virtual summer.

“Here we are,” Sam announced.

Slipstream saw a length of chainlink fence, something like a toll booth, and beyond a wide parking lot facing a large projection screen lit with cartoon figures.

“Hey, Slipstream, can you cover me?” Stella whispered.

Slipstream turned to look into the back seat. “Are you cold?”

“Don’t worry. I probably have enough.”

Slipstream wondered if this was part or the game. Well, it was all part of the game, but she wondered if this response in particular was more important. “Help!” she said.

The little, white Soundwave appeared within her field of view. “How may I help you today?”

“The win criteria: does it have to be with Soundwave’s character?”

“It’s cute how you think ‘Which game characters can I romance?’ an infrequent enough question to need my assistance,” Help said in that annoying, jaded tone.

“It’s the scenario objective.” Slipstream paused. “Just shut-up and answer the question.”

“How would you like me to parse today?”

“Fraggin’!” Slipstream sighed with frustration. “Help, please stop opening judging my queries and then answer my query.”

“Win criteria: casual organic interfacing. Partner: unspecified.”

“Hide.” Slipstream considered her dialogue then replied to Stella, who, like Sam, seemed oblivious to the existence of Help. “Sure! I can get the tickets. Friends take care of each other when they can.” She smiled. Slipstream hoped that meant she had kept the Stella character among potential partners, while establishing they were not financially bound.

When Sam stopped their car at the ticket booth, Slipstream passed her some currency from her bag. “Here. I’ll pay. You can take care of refreshments.”

Samantha took the money and made the exchange with the booth attendant for their entry. After some mumbled directions, Sam drove slowly into the lot. Where should we park? Down front? Toward the back?”

Slipstream wondered if this decision, too, would affect the outcome of her game. So far, she hadn’t even encountered Soundwave’s character. If they parked near the front, they would have a good view of the screen, but any movement within the vehicle might also be visible to patrons parked behind. Toward the back was away from the screen and near the projection booth. One side was close to a concessions stand, and the other bordered only by a length of fence. That, Slipstream calculated was an obvious location for illegal entry, but potentially also a patrolled area, for being so obvious. “Toward the back?” She suggested.

“Toward the back is good,” Stella agreed.

Sam parked their vehicle fairly close to the projection booth, which was located above the restrooms. She shut down the car then hooked up their issued speaker. “I’m gonna get out, stretch my leg, see who’s around. Either of you need to use the restroom?”

Slipstream considered. The further she got in this scenario, the more self-aware she was of every decision. “Yes.”

Slipstream was glad of the choice when she entered the ladies restroom with Sam and saw the purple door. Slipstream pushed on the door and it swung inward, revealing some manner of human plumbing fixture and the hovering Help avatar. “Are you going to let your choices make you save, quit, or reset?”

“If I reset, I go back to the last purple door, right?”

“Yes.”

“And, if I save, and later reset?”

“I like how you are not brand new to games.”

“Just answer!”

“Reset always returns you to the first respawn location. If you wish to save here, you will later have the choice to reset, or restore from last save.”

“But, there was probably something I said in the car that affected my available paths.”

“Sometimes you win; sometimes you learn. Would you care to save, quit, or reset?”

“Save.”

“I saved your progress for you.”

“Wow, because that’s kind of your mission!” Slipstream left the stall and found Sam looking into a mirror, applying a personal care product to her lips. She looked in her own bag and found a similar cylinder. Slipstream looked up at one of the mirrors and saw her own face, which closely resembled that her of her photo ID. She mimicked Samantha’s movements to apply the dark paint to her lips.

When they returned to the car, they found Stella standing alongside and speaking to a man. Slipstream thought he was familiar, but didn’t think she knew him. Many of Soundwave’s virtual characters were based on scans of contemporary Detroit humans; Slipstream might have seen him in the media.

Slipstream approached them and looked from one to the other. “This is Ray,” Stella said, “He’s the projectionist.”

“Nice to meet you,” Slipstream said, fairly confident that was a polite human thing to say that wouldn’t alienate either character.

Ray smiled at her, but then, he also seemed to be smiling at Stella. “I was just saying, if, any of you girls want to come up and check out the booth, you’re more than welcome.”

“That sounds like an invitation,” Slipstream replied.

“That would be cool. Let me just talk to my friends a minute. OK?” Stella asked.

“Sure,” Ray said, “I’ll be over there near the stairs.”

Scrap, Slipstream thought, that made this sound like a major decision point. She supposed only one of them would be able to go meet Ray at the stairs. “I didn’t know you had an interest in projection,” she said.

“I want to be able to hang out with you, but I’m also interested in Ray’s offer. What do you think?”

Slipstream frowned. Would Stella stay with her if she asked? Or, if Slipstream announced her own interest in Ray, would it mean she alienated this Stella character should she need help later? Was she over-thinking this? She looked over Stella’s shoulder, trying to spot any boxy blue or black vehicle that might signify Soundwave’s presence, but she saw none.

“You seem interested in Ray. Feel free to accept his invitation. If you need me later, come find me.”

“Thanks, Slipstream! You’re the best!” Stella quickly threw her arms about Slipstream and pulled their bodies together in a hug. It felt…soft, but not special or enticing.

Slipstream saw that Stella met with Ray and they went upstairs.

There were many characters around, but Slipstream returned to Sam, given she already had some relationship with the character. It was immediately clear this was not the sort of relationship likely to lead to win criteria.

“I just spotted Nino at the fence! Listen, can you do me a favor? Go distract that attendant while the guys hop the fence.”

“Distract?” Slipstream asked for confirmation. Did that mean offer casual interfacing?

“Ask him about the movie schedule or something! Please. You can have half the beers when you get back, and one of my blankets.”

Because, Slipstream surmised, Sam and Nino would want to be alone inside the convertible.

“Friends take care of each other when they can,” Slipstream groaned. Just when was someone going to take care of her needs?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a boring filler chapter about Slipstream searching for an acceptable romanceable character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virtual copies or in-game characters inspired by: Carmine Fanzone, Optimus, Lockdown, two other barely-identifiable bots, and I wonder who the skinny kid might be.

Slipstream wandered through the cars, some with headlights on in the twilight, others dim. Not a one of them was boxy or imported or even looked designed outside America. If Soundwave had a vehicle here, Slipstream couldn’t guess what it would be.

She strode toward the fence, finding an appropriate jaunty swing to her legs kept the shoes in place without putting too much weight into the slender heels. Her human clothing was overall tight, including a scarf knotted about her throat, except for an outermost blouse which seemed half unfastened.

She found the attendant near the length of chainlink, batting a flashlight into his hand as if this would increase battery power or internal contacts. She’d seen this yellowy-fringed organic on television, she remembered the particular fuzzy, facial ornamentation. Mustache?

This meant the offer casual interfacing plan was out. Simulation or not, Slipstream wasn’t interested in getting close to a character who so closely approximated the DPD Captain who worked alongside Optimus’s team of Autobots.

But here, he didn’t know her, did he?

“Can I ask you a question?” Slipstream asked, adding what she hoped was a friendly, innocent wave.

“You girls staying out of trouble tonight?” Maybe the character did know her.

Slipstream forced a laugh. “You know us! So…” She tried to think of a good question to keep his attention. “What do you know about this movie?”

“You zooming those there art students now, Slipstream?” Carmine asked. She wasn’t sure what this meant.

“And what if I were ?”

“You know what they say? It’s always the quiet ones. You be careful.”

“Didn’t know you cared,” Slipstream huffed.

“Look, it ain’t a secret who your old man is, but you always seemed smarter.” Her character had backstory? This was getting personal, and a little too like real life, which was not what she’d asked for. “Don’t let those boys get you in trouble.”

“You suggesting I go for someone older?” She asked suspiciously.

“It ain’t like that, and you know it. Our families have their differences, but I’ve watched you grow up since you were a kid.”

“Right.” This was just awkward and putting an acidic taste in the back of her mouth, “It’s not like I’m serious about anyone here.”

“Just be safe, will ya?” Carmine pounded his flickering flashlight against the palm of one hand and moved on. Fortunately, by that time, Nino and a couple companions had already scaled the fence.

Slipstream’s walk back to the red convertible was slower even than when she had set out. She was questioning everything. Was there a side quest to get Carmine new fresh batteries? What happened if she did that? Maybe she shouldn’t overthink everything. She was supposed to be relaxing. She could always reset, right?

When Slipstream reached the car, the roof was up, although the driver’s window was down. Sam called out to her. “I popped the trunk open. Take whatever you need.”

Slipstream nodded, noticing Nino seated beside Sam in the car.

The cargo compartment seemed large enough to hold several humans; she’d actually seen a few climbing out of cargo spaces on her way back. There was a real emergency kit, and besides the smuggled alcoholic beverages, it contained spare batteries, something like a radio, and gauze bandages. “A lot of sandbox for one weird, sticky interfacing scenario,” she said aloud. But…this same programmed world might serve Soundwave across multiple scenarios designed for pleasure, research or training.

Help popped-up. “Players are discouraged from Fourthwalling and Meta speak.”

“Hide!”

Slipstream took a blanket and a few other supplies from the trunk. She already felt over encumbered without subspace or cargo compartments of her own. With the sun below the horizon, advertisements for upcoming movies and concession stand items were projected on the giant screen. The soundtrack was distorted as Slipstream heard it thorough nearby cars. “Robot Monster Stalks the Earth!”

Slipstream headed for the fast food stand at the side of the lot closer to the entrance. She saw counters with point-of-sale devices, bright menus, overhead, describing organic treats in combination of text and photo, and human workers in paper hats.

Slipstream looked over the patrons, identifying family man or women with their tiny juvenile, human children, Young athletes with their letters or numbers on their outer garments, the counter culture youth with this matching black leather jackets and not-as-matching hats, caps, and puffed hair. There were others: couples in jeans and shirts with popped collars, girls in short, pleated skirts blowing pink bubbles, boys in sweater vests and trousers.

Slipstream wondered if her tight, dark clothing identified her as more likely a companion for a particular class of society. Not that such segregation was just, but human and Earth history had periods not unlike the current Autobot regime.

“What’ll you have?”

Oh! “Popped corn.”

“What size?”

Slipstream thought she could feel someone watching her like the sense of a nearby electromagnetic field. Size? ”Small.”

“Would you like a drink with that?” She had drinks, but these were apparently illegal for her to consume.

From the periphery of her vision, Slipstream saw a man in a reddish-pink shirt smiling at her. She focused on the server. “One fountain soda.”

“Which one?”

Slipstream struggled to process the flavor data. ”Just a plain vanilla.”

The server now pressed his lips together tightly. “Cream soda-? Or I can get you a vanilla-cola.”

Slipstream heard a laugh from her side, where she had seen the smiling man. She sighed, frustrated that she was spending her actual date night learning how to order human food. “Yes. The second one.” Slipstream set her bag on the counter to retrieve currency. She handed the server a paper bill, noting that this was the last of her money considering she’d planned for Samantha to pay her back in something more than illegal beer beverages.

The server slid a paper bag and cup over the counter. Mister smiling in a red shirt stepped close. “You want some help carrying these?” he put his hands on her food and beverage before she could answer.

“You don’t even know where I’m headed.” Slipstream didn’t even know.

“Where would you like to go?”

No pressure, Slipstream thought. Nearby there was some commotion and she heard yelling, “What did you call me?” Slipstream shook her head. “Maybe somewhere a little quieter.”

“My truck is over here.” He tipped his head to indicate a location closer to the screen.

“Hey!” Someone yelled. Asking kid in weird paper glasses careened into Slipstream’s smiling partner. Her fountain soda spilled all over his sweater vest and popcorn and soda mixed across the broad shouldered red shirt.

Slipstream didn’t care about their clothing. “I paid for that!” she shrieked.

She went still as she felt firm human hands press down on her shoulders. A familiar, drawling, gravelly voice spoke at her ear. “Let me buy you something to eat, Slipstream.” Slipstream saw the skinny kid run clumsily away, as the guy in the messy red shirt confronted a pair of leather clad youths over having pushed the “skinny geek” into him.

Slipstream turned, feeling the pain of hands move lightly over her arms as she did. “It’s you!” resembled Lockdown, So much as a human might: strong jaw, buzzed hair, neck tattoo, spiked leather jacket. But he couldn’t really be here. This was just a virtual copy or… a fantasy character Soundwave had designed.

“Laredo. You remembered.”

“Sure,” Slipstream smiled and it felt natural. Laredo sounded like a name Soundwave would use.

Laredo turned to the counter, ”Give the lady a popcorn and vanilla cola.”

While the server hurried to fetch Slipstream’s order, Laredo leaned against the edge of the counter. “Were you really with Kennedy?” he said quietly.

“Who?”

Laredo grinned wide, showing a narrow gap between his front teeth.” I know a bike isn’t as cool inside the drive-in as without, but if you don’t mind the privacy of the woods, you’re welcome to join me.”

“Yeah,” Slipstream agreed, and picked-up her food from the counter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the VR world, finding a guy interested in casual sex isn't as easy as Slipstream expected.

Behind the large movie screen, there was a clearing littered with debris of human occupation. It seemed the owners of the drive-in theatre had assumed the wooded area with creek and thick understory of shrubs was a better deterrent than a fence they may otherwise have to pay to install and upkeep. Whether the woods kept anyone from entering without paying for the show, Slipstream could not tell. What she did see was that the lack of fence created a destination for those already on the property who might want privacy beyond the car lot.

The ground was strewn with glass bottles, food containers, candy wrappers, and several odd shoes.

The interesting thing, or so Slipstream thought, was that the projected images of the movie were still visible, only in reverse. The lettering on the stagecoach read as if in a mirror as it was dusted-off.

“If I may,” Laredo said, with flourish to the blanket under Slipstream’s right arm. She lifted her arm just enough to let it drop, without releasing her bag or food containers. She looked up at the screen; they were without a soundtrack here, so the dialogue was speculative, though the blank & white image was clear.

Laredo whipped the thick fire blanket out onto the ground and then sat down. They weren’t entirely alone; Slipstream could see now another couple reclining, perhaps just out of hearing, and then she heard the approach of Laredo’s two gang mates encountered at the concessions stand. Slipstream sat down near Laredo. She set down her bag and containers, then stretched her limbs before settling with legs out in front and weight held in her arms. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if Laredo’s mates intended to make this a party, but saw they found their own spot to sit together.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Laredo said. Slipstream thought she had just done that, but maybe the phrase meant something more.

“Right.” She straightened her back to free her hands. “You want a beer?” she asked, taking one of the bottles from her bag.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked, taking the bottle.

Slipstream watched as he lowered the bottle between his folded legs and twisted the cap against the metal plate along his belt. The cap popped off and foam erupted from the brown glass neck. Laredo lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a quick swig.

She almost forgot to answer. Something about the scene just made her feel off. “Um…friend. Did her a favor.”

“Good friend. You want to share?”

Slipstream saw the bottle opening tipped towards her. Did she? She wasn’t sure whether she’d like to suggest there were two more bottles, so she could watch Laredo pop another bottlecap, or if it might be somehow better to put her mouth where his had been. She just nodded and grasped the neck of the bottle to bring it to her mouth.

“Not too much,” Laredo warned.

“There’s more,” Slipstream said, licking her lips. She couldn’t properly analyze the contents of the beverage in this body, but she didn’t think it tasted too much of alcohol. It was vaguely bitter, she thought, but refreshingly wet.

“I mean, I’m not trying to get you drunk.”

“Drunk.” That was the irresponsible part that alcoholic beverage companies were required to warn consumers against. Like being over-charged, except kinda the opposite, she thought. More like being in a low power state while still online. “Maybe I trust you.”

Laredo got this look on his face that Slipstream couldn’t immediately identify. It was almost like a glitch, like he meant to speak but just didn’t.

Slipstream propped the bottle on their blanket and reached for the soda. What she knew of this stuff was mainly that it dried very sticky, having been in an accident involving a concessions stand in the past, but when she tasted it, all she could think was that it tasted near as good as energon. This had a little bite to it, like energon spiked with some kind of booster, not that she’d ever actually had access to boosters herself, but some of her memories were not entirely her own.

Slipstream sucked again at her straw, watching Laredo. He seemed to watch her in turn, drawing from the bottle again. He tipped the beer up and gulped.

Slipstream laughed. “What if I want to get you drunk?”

“Wha-?” He made a sound in his throat. “Would take more than this.” He grinned at her again. Slipstream liked the sheen of liquid on his lips that he brushed away with the back of his hand.

Slipstream made her shoulders shrug. She reached down for some popcorn. It was coated with a film of oil, and she held it under her nose to test its scent before she tried tasting. It smelled like some vile human food, but right now, that also meant delicious. She tossed the piece into her mouth. It had an earthy, salt taste, with a yummy helping of vegetable oil.   “You want to share?” She asked, reaching already for a handful of oily, puffed-corn kernels.

A nod.

Slipstream pushed popcorn at Laredo’s mouth. She felt his lips on her fingers, and then the wiry stubble of his face beneath her fingertips. She wanted to kiss him. Maybe a lot of it was the character reminding her of Lockdown, whom she only pretended no to miss in front of her subordinates. She couldn’t afford to show how much the loss of his arsenal and experience would cost the team, much less how the impersonal nature of his current hunts wounded her emotionally. He’d chase a bot with obsolete, redundant mods if one crossed his path now; it didn’t make her feel special.

Slipstream shifted on the blanket, shifting weight to one thigh, and then to her knees. She leaned toward Laredo.

“Not too fast,” he whispered.

Not what she wanted to hear. “But you want this.”

The answer was a hand cupping her face and light, slow movements of a mouth tasting of beer and smoke.

Slipstream continued her advance, kissing forcefully and crawling into Laredo’s lap.

“Hold up. Just-“

“What? Why?”

Laredo stroked her hair. Slipstream wanted him to hurt her just a little. “We can take things slow. You don’t need to- to prove anything to me.”

“I want to-“ Slipstream realized she didn’t know all the right human words for what she might want to do. “I want to be with you. Now.”

Laredo gave in to kissing again. Slipstream leaned her weight against him, and slowly he allowed their bodies to lower to the blanket. His hands seemed to guide her either away, or onto her back, but though Slipstream often saw the advantage in going along with the flow and riding shifts in power, like so much turbulence, she was learning to choose battles she was willing to fight. This was one such battle; Slipstream didn’t feel like she wanted to be under anyone just now. This was her game, and she was tired of hiding how furious she was at the alternate universe Autobots for fragging with Lockdown, and she wanted to feel something good.

Thunder rumbled and trees every side of their blanket were lashed by a sudden gust of wind.

Slipstream put her hands to Laredo’s chest, feeling for seams or edges of clothing. His snug cotton shirt didn’t exactly hide his shape, but she still wanted to see. She wanted to feel more. The shirt ended at his waist. Her knuckles touched warm skin beneath.

“Slipstream.”

She lifted her head, but kept her gaze averted. She wasn’t sure this was anything she wanted to hear.

“If you want to, let me take you somewhere. I know a motel. It’s classy. Promise. I want to do right by you. Make our first time special.”

Slipstream sat up. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or scream. “Because you’re serious about me. You want to…” What was the word? “Go together like a couple?”

“Of course I am! I’ve wanted you to be my lady for a while now.”

“Of course.” Slipstream contemplated summoning Help, or searching for a save point to restore from a past save. Maybe she’d just underestimated Soundwave’s role in ensuring his character was the one she ended up with, by making others less likely to comply with being casual or interfacing. She still didn’t know where he was.

The thunder rumbled again.

“Slipstream?”

“Tomorrow,” she whispered. Her body was trembling, though she didn’t think it was the cold of the wind. Too much want. Too many conflicting goals.

Laredo sat up, touched his hands to Slipstream’s back to support her. “You sure?”

“Tomorrow. I came with friends, so…. Tomorrow we can go out together.”

A few fat raindrops fell against Slipstream’s face and neck. In a rush, she kissed Laredo again. This time, he kissed her back just as fiercely.

“We gotta split, man!” one of Laredo’s pals called.

“Let me walk you back?” Laredo asked.

“I’m all right on my own.” Slipstream rubbed her hands along his thighs in the process of getting to her feet. She bent to reach her bag.

Laredo climbed to his feet and took a moment to readjust his clothes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The rain fell, as on the screen a scene in an old west dining room was yet visible. Slipstream left the blanket and trash and jogged as well as she could in heels, back to the main parking lot. Thunder boomed again and the rain fell in heavy torrents. Slipstream was quickly soaked without having the red convertible in sight.

A flashing light through the watery curtain drew her attention. A pair of headlights flashed. For her? The only way to know was to go towards them. Slipstream kicked of her shoes, picked than up, and ran. As she approached the dark muscle car, its passenger door opened to her.

Slipstream ducked inside with barely a glance to any occupants. She threw her bag and shoes down before her, onto the red upholstery, then pulled the door closed.

She saw him then, the skinny geek in the red and green lens paper glasses.

“You’re the one who spilled my drink!”

The kid, already missing the previously stained vest, commenced to remove his shirt. ”Take off your wet clothes and put this on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is this skinny kid in 3D glasses inside the black and red muscle car?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slipstream finally finds her partner and casual organic interfacing is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter details robots having VR human-like sex, and using their own alien robot euphemism and points of reference.
> 
> The movie that plays is called The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, which is a classic John Ford Western starring John Wayne and James Stewart. Some lines of dialogue are quoted within the chapter.

The rain on the car’s metal roof filled the interior with rapid percussion, and though the screen was obscured by rain – for some reason, the projectionist hadn’t bothered to stop the film – the speaker fixed to the driver’s window still played the soundtrack.

Slipstream sat sideways on the red vinyl front seat, dressed only in socks, innermost supportive garments, and a borrowed schoolboy button-down. The character Hallie was telling Tom how he didn’t own her, and he responded with amusement, telling her she was “awful pretty when she got mad.” Hallie confronted Ranse about closing the school, and to melancholy music he encouraged her to go make things up with Tom, whom he thought was trying to protect her. The melancholy music continued.

Across from Slipstream was the schoolboy in trousers, thin undershirt, and weird glasses. He offered a cloth handkerchief from a back pocket. “It’s clean,” he said, voice cracking a bit. He made a sound, presumably to clear his throat.

“Ranse!” Halle called, but another character informed her that Ranse had gone off to practice using a gun. Hallie supposed this meant Ranse was going to face Liberty Valance, and then called for Tom.

“It’s a good movie. This is not the best venue.”

Slipstream took the handkerchief and wiped her face. She ran her right hand back through her hair. It was a mess, having been back-combed and then soaked; she had no idea how to fix it. She tried untying the scarf from her neck to make a band for her hair.

“Let me.” He scooted closer, until their knees touched. As he used both hands to untie the knot at Slipstream’s throat, she reached up for his glasses and removed them. At first he closed his eyes, but then he opened them on her with a distinctly non-human amber gaze. “We haven’t met.”

“I don’t think we have,” Slipstream agreed.

“I’ve seen you around.” The scarf came loose.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you.”

“My name is Soundwave.”

“Yeah. I’m Slipstream.” She tied her hair back in a sloppy ponytail.

“It’s a pretty name. It has a nice sound to it.”

“Really?” Was that part of his role, or did Soundwave actually like her name in particular?

Soundwave smiled, head bowed, and looked more pink than pasty. This body was a different design from his holo-avatar; the coloring was paler, the hair blond, but the height and amber eyes were much the same.

“And you’re still in school?” Slipstream asked. It occurred to her only now that his clothing had been a uniform, but there were other clues in his car: thick texts on electronics and trigonometry, one of those letter sweaters across the back seat.

“My old man is making me take an extra semester of prep school to get ahead before Stanford.”

“So we didn’t even go to the same school or live in the same part of town.”

“No.”

“I don’t suppose we’ll see each other after this?”

“Afraid not.”

“I think- I mean, I am glad I got in the car.”

“I wanted to say one of those cool lines,” Soundwave confessed, then he seemed to process what she’d said, “you are?”

“’Get in the car if you want to live’?” she laughed, “Yeah, because, I’m pretty sure you picked a fight with two homosexual motorcyclists on purpose, just so you could stop me from going off with that Kennedy guy, without being obvious about it.”

“He does horrible things to guitars.”

Slipstream wondered if Soundwave was being meta and saying Kennedy was based on Optimus, which she could understand, or if the character coincidentally shared the trait. Help wasn’t popping up, so she supposed the latter was true. “So?” She asked, reaching experimentally to rest her left hand on his knee. “Do you play?”

“Only Classical.” He laid his own hand over Slipstream’s.

“I’m cold,” Slipstream said.

“I think you’re bluffin,” came Tom’s voice from the movie speaker.

“I’m not bluffing about anything!” Ranse yelled.

Slipstream moved closer to Soundwave. The only way to do it was in a tangle of limbs. It felt different with fleshy bodies. Her left leg somehow squeezed between Soundwave and the seat-back, and her right thigh seemed to drape over his knees. It was weird; the flesh more malleable than the thinnest dermal plating, but here in VR, Slipstream felt like this form of contact was natural, even comfortable. She still felt pressure, especially where bony armature within human joints rubbed against softer flesh, but it seemed to generate emotional comfort.

“Better?” Soundwave asked, still working out the best way to arrange their upper bodies. His right arm, restricted by their positions in the seat, draped un-alarmingly over Slipstream’s shoulder, and she was about to respond in the positive, when his left hand cupped her hip; she gasped involuntarily. “Hurt?”

Slipstream shook her head. “I was just surprised somehow.” Outside the game, it would be normal for Soundwave to touch her hips, by merit of their height difference. But in these bodies, in the game, it was shocking. Slipstream smirked, and tilted her head as she looked up. “I think I got excited.”

“Not-hurt, then,” Soundwave acknowledged.

“But…”

“Pilgrim, you’ve got to cock it first,” Tom’s voice played.

Slipstream laughed. “Maybe start up here.” She touched Soundwave’s lips with the fingertips of her right hand, then brought her fingers to her own mouth.

“I-“ Soundwave looked right at her. Slipstream wasn’t sure about Earthling folklore claiming one’s spark was revealed in their gelatinous optical organs, but the eyes did seem the focus of a lot of external micro-expressions. Soundwave meant: “I am vowed to serve you, and I write secret love songs about you, but by the rules of my own game I can’t tell you how slaggin’ emotionally compromised I am that you are willing to even try virtual, organic sex with me.”

“I know.” Slipstream said. She craned her neck and shifted weight towards Soundwave such as she could, having little leverage. Maybe, he wanted permission. “For tonight, let’s be with each other.”

“Yes!” The kiss came, faster and sloppier than would have from Soundwave in real life, but so welcome.

“Balance it light in your hand. And don’t jerk the trigger. Squeeze,” the soundtrack seemed to coach.

Slipstream pushed with her left leg, getting enough traction to seat herself atop Soundwave’s right thigh. His mouth tasted curiously cool and sweet. She groped at the front of Soundwave’s trousers to the sound of movie gunshots until he hissed and bit her lip.  

Liberty Valance,” Tom’s voice said, “He’s almost as fast as I am!”

Soundwave broke contact between their lips. “You want to go all the way?”

“Shut up and do…me.”

They fell. It seemed that way. Slipstream didn’t think either of them had pushed or pulled with purpose. They simply moved so eagerly toward each other that they lost balance. It was for the best, she felt. As much as she normally hated being pinned down, Slipstream liked the weight along her thighs and abdomen. She liked having her limbs free, although she wasn’t certain how to best operate these stubby foot-fingers within her socks to get Soundwave out of his pants.

He seemed to be using a lot of air as he leaned over her. “You didn’t really mean you wanted to forego…pre-heating?” Slipstream watched as Soundwave’s face colored more deeply. His eyes went through several micro-expressions she thought might indicate realization, regret, and embarrassment.

Before he could attempt apology, Slipstream pressed a hand to his head to guide his mouth to her throat. “Analogy works for me, schoolboy.” She had every confidence that Soundwave knew better than she the difference between human terms “foreplay” and “preheat”, but translated back to Cybertronian, they shared the same root. “You got me turned on. Keep pushing all the right buttons and things’ll get really hot!”

Soundwave seemed to be conducting an experiment to find whether blowing or sucking on human skin caused a more pleasurable sensation. Slipstream was undecided, and then forgot the argument as she felt Soundwave grope at her breast, through the flimsy support garment, such that one of the weird organic docking nipples suddenly stood erect. It felt like someone had manually adjusted an aileron, which was inexplicably wired directly into her fragment of a spark.

Weird place for a priming switch, she thought, even as her body reflexively gasped and arched. She didn’t even have to ask Soundwave to do it again. He slid up and back, between her legs, as he shifted to put his mouth to her breast. His fingers dug at the cloth, pushing it aside, which only made the garment feel more restrictive. His tongue felt really good, but his teeth hurt so much the better.

Slipstream felt as if her virtual body were leaking, but she was somewhat confident it was a normal part of organic interfacing. They had all kinds of nasty water-based lubricants inside them, like the stuff that evaporated off her throat and chest to give her a chill.

Soundwave slid upward along her body again. He whispered. It was his unaltered voice, and though he’d attempted to pitch it up to schoolboy range, it was back down at warlord purr, which tended to leave Slipstream frustratingly affected, regardless of what was spoken. He said, “Press play.”

It shouldn’t have made any sense in the context of then virtual game, but that didn’t matter. Slipstream knew what Soundwave meant. She couldn’t help a musical, wavering sigh. And that brought a growl from Soundwave.

“Please.” It was the meanest, most commanding plead, and one related to Starscream knew pleading.

Slipstream slid her right hand down Soundwave’s back, until she felt the band at the top of his trousers. She turned her arm to put her palm facing upward, before slipping it between their bodies. She felt for that external organ the male humans usually had. Translation protocols couldn’t even calculate what to call it, as the organics spoke of it in so much euphemism. She would have called it the transformer, because it seemed the one human part that actually could be seen to convert from one shape and function to another in real time. Swindle probably would have made that a selling point: “Compact waste disposal unit quickly convents to universally compatible pleasure wand; seeds your protoforms with derivative code while you work!”

She knew it when she touched it. It felt like touching a protoform, yet not at all like that. The organic data cord was trapped by layers of clothing, partially transformed. It somehow felt massive in Slipstream’s hand, even though it must be slender near to the point of being undersized, if depictions on popular Earth data networks were accurate. The act of cradling the thing against her palm seemed to trigger an ache in her body.

Slipstream had desired connection before, but it had never caused any parts or jacks to ache. She didn’t even have tactile sensors in all those areas. In the virtual world, it felt like she’d sustain damage if she didn’t connect. “We need to move clothes,” Slipstream whispered.

“Acknowledge- I- Yeah, need you, Baby.” Soundwave appeared to struggle with his human words, again, as he shifted weight into his knees and hands.

“Let me,” Slipstream rasped, half-consciously licking her lips. Soundwave had given her a little room to maneuver and she used the space between them to push his layers of pants away, and down toward his thighs. “It’s OK,” she said, looking from that weird, bobbing, organic cord, to Soundwave’s virtual face, then back.

“I’ll do yours,” he said, “just, a minute?”

Slipstream nodded. She closed her eyes. Safe, she thought, clean, in the lab hooked-up to the VR engine. Yet, when she allowed her eyes to open in the game it seemed so real. How had Soundwave even managed to program these sensations? His signal monitoring and processing abilities did make him nigh telepathic. Maybe the club kids engaged in organic interfacing within Dancitron.

Even if he’d designed the game, as far as Slipstream knew, Soundwave was actually immersed in the VR world himself, and not just monitoring her reactions. He had to be feeling these things.

“I haven’t exactly done this much before,” Slipstream said. It was easy to confess such things when she was making them up. Who knew this character’s backstory? The important thing, she guessed, was to help Soundwave, because it was probably supposed to be his first time, in here. It occurred to her he could have practiced with actual humans, or even with his virtual characters; it wasn’t like his VR games removed any of his real loyalty or affection for her.

This was just a game.

A game, where she pretended to be very intimate with a character played by someone she happened to actually be frighteningly intimate with.

“It’s OK,” Soundwave said, imitating her earlier inflection. He crowded her between his arms then lowered himself back down. “It’s OK,” he repeated, then kissed her face. “I- Uh- Don’t,” His voice cracked before he continued in a low whisper, “I know what I’m doing. Want it to be fun for both of us, right? You can tell me what you like.”

“You’re not too heavy,” Slipstream whispered. She turned her face toward the seat back, mostly just to avert her gaze after she found her own words awkward, but it seemed like Soundwave understood what she really meant.

He lifted himself up, first, to pull off his undershirt, but then he lay down on top of her, chest to chest, hips to hips. The transforming cord swelled up against her abdomen. Soundwave’s hands fell near her shoulders. He wasn’t pinning her; she was letting him lay on top of her. Realizing the difference for herself felt good.

Slipstream reached up for Soundwave’s right hand and drew it down toward her breast. “And here.”

Perhaps remembering, he circled the nipple with an opposing digit.

“And here,” Slipstream said, pushing his left hand down to her hip, and also to the strip of fabric that held her undergarment against her hip bone.

“Good?” She didn’t gasp at the touch to her hip this time, but tried to raise her hip to Soundwave’s hand.

“Yeah.” Slipstream felt Soundwave kiss her neck, and then her chest. She rested her hands against the back of his neck, lightly enough, she hoped, that it only signaled encouragement. She’d seen this in several movies: the kissing along the body. And, in the movies she’d assimilated, the scene often cut to other activity without showing explicitly where the kissing ended.

Soundwave’s fingers tugged and pushed at her undergarments, upper and lower, shifting fabric aside, stroking the flesh beneath. She felt a sudden chill as Soundwave sat up to unthread her legs from her clothing. She was naked from ankles to chest, and realized then, Soundwave wasn’t wearing a thing, but maybe socks.

“Will someone see?” Slipstream asked. All she could see was distortion of water on glass through that vague forms of light, dark and color.

Soundwave looked down at her, as he groped blindly to shut off the speaker playing the soundtrack. It was just rain then. He shook his head, “Let them. You’re beautiful.” His left hand slid up and down her thigh. She met his gaze, but it was evident they’d both been looking at the other’s body. “When I look at you, everything is more.”

“Me too,” a little, anyway. This version of Soundwave seemed like a cute boy, and Slipstream mostly found herself staring at the organic cord, which had now appeared telescoped beyond its protective sheath, wondering how that whole thing was supposed to fit inside another body – her body. “Just touch me.”

Soundwave pushed her right leg over his shoulder, and then, leaning forward, lifted Slipstream’s left leg over his other shoulder. Slipstream only half-suspected what he intended, but Soundwave’s hands stroking her thighs, and then her hips, and aft end, caused an involuntary arching of her back.

Soundwave practically dove forward, pressing his face into the warm, wet, quivering mass of flesh between Slipstream’s legs. She didn’t even rightly know what her own organic interface port looked like, just that she’d scanned data about the range of concave and convex organic organs, but it felt like something empty and aching.

And, Oh, slag was she aware of multiple layers and folds of flesh when Soundwave touched them with his tongue. She screamed, or laughed, or scream-laughed. And in response to that Soundwave mumbled, or hummed. And that somehow felt frighteningly good. Slipstream suddenly wanted him to hack the game and touch her with his own thick, vibrating digits. She wanted the car to be thumping with bass.

She wanted to send her holo-avatar into his alt and play inside. She wanted the street dancer in crazy cap and band jacket to climb inside her cockpit. Soundwave made her want to try so many unconventional forms of communication and interfacing!

“Not there!” Slipstream gasped, but that wasn’t even what she really meant. “I mean,” Her body seemed to lack air for organic combustion, which was ridiculous, because this was all virtual. There was no air to begin. “I mean, there, but not so much at once!”

Soundwave nuzzled his face against the inside of her thigh. “You even taste good. You smell good!”

Slipstream got it. Soundwave was feeling the same types of virtual pleasure signals and simulated chemical drives that she was, but he must also be consciously aware of existing in the game and that he had programmed it himself. He could very well be aware of most of her reactions at the same time. He was by his own admission a bot who found fulfillment in sound and data. He was totally blissing out on every successful detail of his coding.

“Here,” Slipstream whispered. Soundwave complied by pulling himself back along her body, until he looked down upon her, face-to-face. Slipstream lifted her head to take a kiss. The fresh oral-care-product taste was gone, replaced by something dirty and organic. It was so hot.

Soundwave hissed quietly against her lips as they brought their organic interface equipment into contact. Slipstream wrapped her legs about Soundwave’s hips, and used her heels to guide him. She could feel the solid length of his transformed cord nestled in her damp flesh-folds. It was so cool!

“God!” She cried, and Slipstream didn’t believe in any deity outside the VR World. She fought the environment of the vintage car for hand and footholds, trying to get leverage to shift her position for the imminent docking procedure.

Soundwave growled at her. “Like you calling my name.” Slipstream could feel his arms shifting position at her sides, and his weight pressing in on her. The well-lubricated glide of interface organs felt intense and almost too wet.

“Oh, God, Soundwave.”

Their hips inclined toward each other and the throbbing pressure made Slipstream feel as if she were glitching and suffering power brown-out.

Soundwave spoke low, against her ear, “I want to do horrible, primitive, mechanical things to you,” he threatened. She couldn’t even process! She had not a datum of doubt Soundwave preferred her in command, but it still never failed to thrill when he slipped and sounded commanding, or downright menacing.

“Do it!” She commanded. Her lip curled in a snarl, “You don’t think I can take it? You give me everything you have, Schoolboy!”

“As you wish.” Soundwave raised his shoulders in a hunch, so he could view the physical docking of male data cord into vacant, female port.

Slipstream could only feel it. It felt impossible at first, and briefly painful, and then amazing. Her flesh somehow accepted and enveloped the thick organic cord, and it was all flexible. There was no apparent void, beyond a sense that deeper penetration was possible, the near entirety of her internal passage registered contact.

Simultaneously, Slipstream and Soundwave told each other: “I can feel everything!”

How long? Slipstream didn’t know. She felt she was sinking into some slow cell or time dilation field where a fraction of a second could as well be eternity. Soundwave was lying low over her, and they were gyrating against each other as if according to some subconscious base programming.

She visualized illustrations for some Atechnogensis theory Starscream had discounted along with intelligent design: simple machines made of metal and magnetic ores rubbing against each other in chaotic environs until accidentally they became rotor and stator and generated current. This gyrating and penetration in a rhythm was so primitive. It was mechanical. It was, weirdly, musical.

“Oh, God,” she called again. She had no idea how organic life could have developed this mechanical coupling, but so long as it felt this good, it explained why they made use of biological procreation rather than more cerebral processes to maintain their number.

Something changed. It couldn’t have taken long; Soundwave hadn’t even penetrated to the furthest point. The combination of interior and exterior pressure along with other sensory input had triggered a chain reaction. Slipstream felt as if she were paralyzed, yet her internal parts convulsed rapidly, which in turn increased tactile stimulation.

Her senses seemed to be shutting down. There was a rushing noise in her ears that dampened other waves, and she wasn’t aware of seeing any more. Her whole body focused on the movement in her interface organs.

She saw the theoretical rotor and stator seize and then arc with electricity!

It felt like her body was arcing with electricity!

“Stop,” Soundwave cried. Slipstream was barely conscious of it.

“I’m not-“ This was just the most her body could feel. She was overloading.

Soundwave slammed his body against her, growling, pushing through the contracting inner walls like she might air turbulence, until the tip of the swollen cord struck the end of the passage. They both cried out, and then Slipstream was certain Soundwave must be as caught-up by overload as she was, though his body still pumped into hers at rapid-fire pace.

How long? Again, she didn’t know. Slipstream felt like she was melting. She and Soundwave were still physically docked, and it felt good, but Slipstream knew the main event was over.

The white Help avatar popped up within the back seat.


	6. Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achievement: Game Cleared  
> Achievement: Bonus Level Unlocked
> 
> In a post-clear-flag chapter of Soundwave's virtual game, Slipstream and Soundwave anticipate going for Round 2, but has there really been enough time to process what they just did? Maybe they need to talk first.

Help spouted some barely comprehensible gibberish about flags and achievements.

“Mute,” Soundwave told it. He lifted his head from Slipstream’s chest. “If Help active; then Slipstream is free to speak as she pleases. Your choice: Exit, replay, save, continue.”

“What about your choice?”

“Your choice.”

If he was going to be this way, “An informed decision requires input. What would you like, Soundwave?”

He answered quickly enough to prove Slipstream’s suspicion he had a preference. “A few minutes. Here.”

Slipstream nodded. “Save progress,” she said to Help.

It was still muted, so a text reply appeared hovering: Your progress has been saved.

Slipstream sank back against the red upholstery. She felt connected, and almost vulnerable being physically joined without immediate goal or movement. But, she didn’t mind it, really. It was like monitoring a weapons system on cooldown, only she wasn’t sure at the moment if she’d receive a new firing solution.

“Hold onto me,” Soundwave said.

Slipstream put her arms about Soundwave’s neck, then tightened the hold her legs had about his hips. He lifted her then, and Slipstream perceived the goal was to maintain their docked state while shifting position. She held fast while Soundwave seated himself on the passenger side, keeping Slipstream balanced in his lap. He slouched down enough to allow Slipstream to fold back her legs into a kneeling position.

“You want more of this?” she asked, purposely inclining her head to one side as she thrust her hips forward.

“Will not refuse, if you offer again,” Soundwave warned, “Requirements: view, chance to talk.”

Slipstream laughed, because after his effort to keep their bodies joined, Soundwave couldn’t expect her to believe he wasn’t somehow interested in the organic interfacing. But, he had her curious about the so-called view. “You mean this body?”

“Your body.” Soundwave pushed at the open front of the shirt, glancing to Slipstream as if for permission. She didn’t argue, but let him push the shirt off her shoulders. The button-down slipped from her arms.

Slipstream lay her hands against Soundwave’s chest. It felt like he really breathed. “Want some time alone with your work?” She asked, as she kissed his face.

“With you, Commander.” Slipstream could feel fingers on the clasp at her back, removing the flimsy support garment that trapped her breasts. “This is not your only shell, but it is your shell. Alone it is beautifully rendered and custom coded. You make the shell alive. That is beautiful. Digital life.”

“You wanna negotiate?”

“Terms?”

“I’ll might spend some more time with you, in this shell, even interface, if,” Slipstream paused to punctuate her query by lifting herself from Soundwave. “You move us to an environment that feels more secure, and you use your other shell.”

He cast her a warning glance with his amber eyes; he wouldn’t like it if she disconnected completely, but having met game requirement meant she was back in command. “Slipstream: has preference for specific organic features or color?” He brushed the thumb of one hand across her breast in obvious retaliation.

Her second-in-command was getting ever more bold. Fortunately for them both, Slipstream saw many alternate solutions to use of a fusion cannon. She shrugged. “The other one just seems more you.”

“Other one: highly customized.” The schoolboy grinned.

Slipstream wiggled down into Soundwave’s lap, realizing it was more difficult to control these movements when his cord wasn’t properly pressurized. “It’s not like you have to hold out on me! If I’m not ready for something, you’ll know.”

“Complaints about subtle indirect approach? From my Commander?” Bold, but honestly, she deserved that reminder. It was something she would have said to a Commander like herself.

“Shut-up and accept my terms already.” She was busy trying to calculate an angle of attack, though she wasn’t sure whether this position required more pitch heading than thrust.

Soundwave called out the scenario to load and Help’s text display replied: 52 seconds to reboot. 51, 50, 49….

“It may help if you shut-down visual,” Soundwave suggested.

Slipstream shut her eyes, and leaned in toward Soundwave until they touched at chests and cheeks. She knew it was going to happen, but it was still alarming when one Soundwave was digitally replaced in the VR world by another. Slipstream felt the differences as soon as the substitution was rendered. The breadth of the body, its current temperature, even the specific size of the interface equipment.

“It’s Soundwave,” Soundwave said.

Slipstream opened her eyes. They were in a room that seemed to belong to Soundwave, which was also obviously within Sumdac Tower. Still VR, but now simulating their native 22nd Century Detroit. Slipstream recognized the view and distinctive curved glass wall, as well as the appointments of a geek-rocker’s dressing room. There were a few subtle purple turbofoxes for faction flavor, no giant ones, of course.

Slipstream lowered her gaze from their environs to study Soundwave. She recognized the face, familiar from his holo-avatar, immediately; it was more beige than rose, or white, or bronze, but the amber eyes were the same. The hair, which she’d often glimpsed from beneath his cap, looked like something chemically lightened from a darker color, so although there was gold in it, he definitely wasn’t blond or fair-haired.

Then she noticed the drawing of the bat on the skin of his chest. “You weren’t kidding about customized.”

“It’s cool?”

“Oh, yeah.” True. Slipstream found it easy enough to admit. She had a type: Intelligent, witty, packing an impressive arsenal, and into self-expression through personal modification. Soundwave had to be one that knew this.

Soundwave reached his hands up into Slipstream’s hair. She realized only then it was loose.

“Did you reset my hair?”

“Yes.” Soundwave moved his hands roughly over her scalp. “Now you look like you’ve been doing horrible, primitive, mechanical things...Commander.”

“Nice save,” Slipstream murmured, half-distracted. The memory of the rhythmic thrusting against each other was enough to make Slipstream feel her body was leaking, again, and it came with a little, involuntary spasm, like an aftershock of what had come before.

“Do that again,” Soundwave pleaded.

Theoretically, if her body could do something automatically, she ought to be able to access the code to do it intentionally, and while Slipstream didn’t understand the alien chemical codes of organics, this body was actually a digital, virtual entity, which had no chemicals, which therefore mean it was all a matter of controlling code anyway. Soundwave was God here, regardless of who was in command of him, it was his world, but he’d coded it well enough that Slipstream effected so much other change simply by thinking, or willing, or assuming.

Slipstream made the internal clenching happen again.

“You’re good,” Soundwave told her, and then more helpfully, “Requirements: more pitch than thrust. Concur?”

Exactly what she had been testing for herself. She didn’t require much in the way of forceful horizontal or vertical movement. Slipstream merely needed to adjust the pitch of her hips, the inclination toward Soundwave, and one side-effect would be relative motion that provided the sensation of rhythmic penetration and withdrawl. “So concurred,” Slipstream sighed.

She held onto Soundwave’s shoulders as she looked down and watched the movement between them. The ends of her hair fell into her field of view, but Soundwave moved them for her before she could so much as swat at them. Their bodies were so squishy and earthy, yet the movement was mesmerizingly mechanical. She felt it must be like zoning out in front of an oil rig, or some hicks enjoying a leisurely picnic out on the energon farm, like theoretical simple machines discovering they could rub up against each other and generate current.

Slipstream closed her eyes. Science theories were hot. Infrasonics were hot. Arm stumps and stripped-vacant optical ports were hot. VR games were hot. Organic interfacing was kinda hot. Her younger self hadn’t predicted she’d even be interested in such things, even a several lunar cycles ago, she hadn’t a clue. But now, Slipstream was just going with it. These things were slagging sexy and she wasn’t going to fight that. Her turn-ons and kinks, not Starscream’s. OK, except for that thing with the deep warlord purr certain bots had, but Slipstream wasn’t going to deny that one. It was Soundwave’s voice, too, and who cared if Starscream secretly liked Megatron’s speeches?

“I pictured you like this,” Soundwave confessed.

Slipstream looked at him, assuming she looked as undone, needy and slack-jawed as Soundwave did right now. She could picture it: Geeky rockstar bot locked in his lab, manually compiling code to realistically render the physics of hair movement, testing his virtual characters over and over in automated animations. “Tell me!”

“I just did.” He had to know what she meant!

“Soundwave.” Slipstream sighed, “It wasn’t like a real command.”

“Apology: Sorry. Soundwave: caught off guard.”

Had he really been? Slipstream stilled her movements, then leaned in to kiss Soundwave’s face. “You OK, Wave?”

“Uncertain.” Meaning he actually wasn’t.

“The interfacing: you want me to stop?” Slipstream asked.

Soundwave did not reply immediately, but Slipstream felt the light tug on her hair as his fingers shifted hold. “Not permanently.”

“OK.” Slipstream looked around to make another quick scan of their environs and assets, noting points of egress, as was her own habit. She reached out with her left arm to take some dark textile or linen from the back of their couch. “I’m gonna move,” she said, as she drew the blanket around her own shoulders.

Carefully, she rose onto her knees, until their bodies disengaged. It made her feel immediately sore and empty in comparison, and Soundwave’s awesome transforming part seemed rather deflated, so Slipstream didn’t expect he was in a sexy, or even really great mood. “Here, lie down,” Slipstream offered.

She saw Soundwave was alert enough to track her movement as she scooted along the cushioned sofa, and as she moved after her, Slipstream swung the cloth around to cover Soundwave’s shoulders. She lay back, her own head supported by what might have been a decorative turbofox-faced pillow, and then guided Soundwave to lay his head over her chest.

For a while, they were silent, only resting together. Slipstream noticed the red condor wings tattooed on Soundwave’s back; debated touching.

“You’re being nice,” Soundwave said.

Somehow, this annoyed Slipstream. “I can be nice.”

“Compliment: intended.”

“Thanks, I guess. I mean, don’t worry about it. It’s you, so….”

Soundwave didn’t say anything, but Slipstream could feel him settling against her, seeking placement for his hands that was intimate without being overtly arousing. It felt relaxing, honestly, which she had probably needed. Soundwave put one hand along her side, which the other curved beneath her left shoulder.

The room was quiet, enough that Slipstream began to think the movements within their virtual bodies were audible. He’d even programmed that: the beat of red, organic fuel pumps.

“I want to crawl inside your cockpit.”

“I-“ Did Soundwave know she had visualized the same thing? “Maybe I’ll let you.”

“Will you?”

“Not for my spark, but to be close in another way.”

“Soundwave: pleased.”

“Good.” Slipstream lifted her left hand to his hair. It wasn’t as soft as she’d expected, though she had no idea on what that expectation was based. But, it felt: peaceful.

“Feels nice.”

Slipstream laughed softly as she tousled his hair.

“Sometimes, you stand close to me, and I get this feeling like your trying to talk with your energy field.”

“Not talk. Just share.”

“Maybe next time I won’t push you away.”

“Slipstream.” Soundwave raised his head to look at her more directly, “I have been thinking I may have made an underestimation.”

“About us?”

“About you. Our interaction. I am still attempting to process, but, I- I _hope_ , if I tell you, we can understand it better, together.”

Slipstream thought about this. Maybe – probably – this was what had caught Soundwave off guard. “Actually, I realized some things, tonight, so maybe it really is the best strategy to talk about it.”

“Good? Not like when humans say, ‘We need to talk.’?”

Slipstream shoved at Soundwave’s head. “Get out! No way I’m breaking up with you. And seriously!? You’d sooner assimilate my shell than break up with me.”

Soundwave shifted onto his hands and knees. He peered down at Slipstream with a most serious expression, “Slipstream. I would never assimilate your shell-”

“You would-“

“Assimilate _all_ of you, and we would defeat our enemies, together,” Soundwave smiled, actually laughed, “and then I would restore you, because I know we both value our freedom, and I would miss you.”

“You’re an aft sometimes,” Slipstream said, sitting up. She reached behind her for the pillow and threw it at Soundwave as he retreated.

“But, _your_ aft, so-“ Soundwave caught the turbofox pillow and held it in his lap as he sat back on the sofa.

“At least you’re feeling better.” Slipstream glared at Soundwave as she drew the discarded blanket around herself. She didn’t like being all protoform without armor or weapons.

“You are acting more yourself.”

Slipstream shrugged, but she also smiled. “Maybe I’m just happy.” She brushed some loose hair behind the rim of her ear.

“Soundwave:…. I’m happy you’re here, and we’ve decided to talk,” Soundwave said. He ducked his head a little, but Slipstream could still see him looking toward her. She’d left a little space between them on the couch. “One finding in my study of organic physical interfacing is that is lacks data exchange.”

“Well, one might say it communicates what you can infer from each other’s actions, but that is…indirect.”

“But relevant to my conclusions,” Soundwave added. “Initially, I based my Virtual Detroit strictly on contemporary scans of the city, as means to confuse and control enemy subjects.”

“How did you subdue the Autobots to begin? Ratbat?”

Soundwave shook his head. “A drove placed an additive in their oil supply resulting in stasis lock. From there I physically moved them.”

Slipstream considered this. She knew only parts of Soundwave’s life before they joined forces, from what he told her, or what she gleaned in data merges. “Ratbat’s less effective against multiple targets.”

“Yes,” Soundwave said slowly, “The Technorganic concluded the same thing about my technology. The greater number of controlled subjects, the less control over any one individual’s actions. Learning this weakness inspired my further experiments.”

“With more resources and improved programming, a more subtle system of subliminal suggestion enabled you to recruit many workers.”

“Which,” Soundwave lifted a hand to gesture between them, “was around the time I realized our interaction had definitely become personal in nature.” Soundwave paused, lifting his gaze to Slipstream’s eyes.

“You had invited Lockdown to enter VR with you, before.”

“True. The technology existed from the beginning for willing subjects to enter Virtual Detroit, and I had begun to envision recreational uses. But, I had not, at the time, considered us entering in human-type avatars. My separate interests began to coalesce: VR, avatars, organic oppressors, simulations, machine life, and then digital life.”

“I pictured you in your lab obsessing over hair physics,” Slipstream confessed, giggling.

“Yes!” It surprised Slipstream to see him not only happy, but excited. “I did! And, I knew! I had to keep game systems monitored as a background running process, even while immersed, as a logical safety protocol. I began to notice spikes in your visual processing that I was unable to correlate to game mechanics.”

“It happens. Right? I mean, you don’t even want to know all the things Starscream used to fantasize about! Blackarachnia fawning over him! And he knows she only does that to manipulate a bot!” Slipstream threw up her arms in disgust.

“Information: too much.”

“Sorry,” Slipstream laughed.

“I had very specific and highly rendered fantasies about you.”

Slipstream caught her breath and nodded seriously.

“I experienced fear and uncertainty, given your earlier, negative descriptions of Starscream’s leer, and your more defensive statements toward Lockdown. I felt guilt. I worried you would believe I valued your appearance or ability to make me feel good above… _Slipstream_.”

“Oh.” She thought again about her experiences with Soundwave, being temporary business partners, being allies, confidants, becoming commander and subordinate, engaging in some fairly intimate stress relief, becoming more attached. She sighed. “Wave, if I believed that of you, you would know.”

“I was caught off guard when I realized you also had very visual fantasies about me.” His face darkened in color when he said it, “But, more, I realized, I had unintentionally insulted you, by underestimating your feelings toward me.”

“But-“ Slipstream started, wanting to defend Soundwave. She had difficulty verbalizing some things, and so she had relied heavily on his ability to read her better than anyone. But, as she thought this, Slipstream realized that was the issue. Soundwave who was so good at reading her had still underestimated her regard for him in some way. “I see. But, you do know how I feel? Now?”

“My point is ‘know’ is an inadequate standard. I have known, factually, that we regard each other with love since our last data merge. But to experience the effects of love and infer its depth is….”

“Rocks! Hardcore!”

“Totally,” Soundwave agreed. “I am still processing that you agreed to try organic interfacing with me.”

“Actually did it.”

“No. I mean I am that far behind in processing all the input.”

“Stop. C’mon. How could I blow your CPU that much?”

“Because! Slipstream, everywhere we go your visual tracking slows by 2% in the direction of exits. I pictured you hovering in my lap, because my data could not predict your compliance in any other position. And…you asked me to be on top of you.”

“Mm. Not Laredo. Just you. It was the _best_ choice.” Slipstream shivered thinking about it.

“Yet, outside, there is no inherent threat in my being atop you.”

“True,” Slipstream agreed, “but even if you were as big as…Megatron, it’s not like I don’t have memories of throwing Megatron off me, well not-me. It’s not whether anyone is capable of pinning me that is important, it’s that I’m asking _you_ to be between me and the sky.”

“Exactly.”

“Sometimes, I don’t know what you value in me. I mean, I’m not unaware of some assets, but I’m not the Egomaniac, either! But, I guess, maybe I just trust that you do _have_ reasons. I- I do trust you as my second-in-command, and I trust you as my…lover?” That was a difficult word to settle upon, but it felt true when she said it. “Both positions come with certain permissions.”

“I value your permission most of all,” Soundwave said, “But you are possessed of other qualities that make you desirable as a leader, as a companion, and as a lover.”

“Is there a list?”

“Would you like there to be?”

“It’s not like I want to see it,” Slipstream insisted, “Just, if one happened to exist, I could imagine you making minor edits in your spare time.” She shrugged.

“There is a list. It has multiple entries.” The way his eyes rolled upward and to the side made Slipstream suspect he was writing it as he spoke.

“Did you write it just now?”

“Error: origination data corrupted.”

“You know I am coming after that next data merge.”

“Soundwave: always ready to connect.”

Slipstream flashed a smirky smile, “Always?” She glanced down at the purple pillow, then to Soundwave’s face. “If that’s true, I think I might be able to show you a few more visualizations that include me being on top.”

Soundwave scooted away from Slipstream, toward the farther arm of their sofa.

Slipstream lifted the turbofox pillow and tossed it to the floor, as she crawled after Soundwave, “Unless, that makes you uncomfortable?”

Soundwave shook his head, as he licked his lips. He fell back onto the couch cushions.

“Permission?” Slipstream asked as she placed a hand upon Soundwave’s thigh.

“Access: granted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter really expecting something very different to come of it, and IDK if I was in the correct headspace to write this fic, but ultimately I'm deciding to post what I wrote as a bonus chapter, so you can choose to take it as canon (to this fanfic) or not.


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